


After Last, There Must Be First

by Sarcasmus



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Backstory, M/M, prologue(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasmus/pseuds/Sarcasmus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the apocolypse, Ellis goes out drinking with his best buddy Keith. He wakes up to an angered Keith, and doesn't remember a thing about what he said the night before. The next day, he calls Keith multiple times and doesn't get a response. But dear God, there are zombies everywhere. He has to leave; he doesn't have time to look for Keith. All he can do is run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Last, There Must Be First

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small excerpt of a roleplay I wrote with my friend Matt (crowvo on tumblr).  
> Oh yeah, Keith is Irish. That's why his accent is written differently than an expected Southern (it's a mix of both. Probably the sloppiest accent one could write tbh.)

Glasses clinked together and laughter filled the room. “I’m so glad you got that, dude! More money, better hours— man! You’re in luck!” Ellis set the glass on the table.  
Keith laughed and nodded, drinking up his hard cider then clanking it onto the table as well. “Yeah, it totally is. And we actually have more hours together too! Pretty damn cool.”  
Ellis chuckled in response and ordered another round. Another hour passed, and by that time they were both smashed. Ellis especially. Keith had a higher alcohol tolerance than Ellis did, and he wasn’t quite there yet. Plus, he had to drive. Small towns had two uses. One was that some bars had their own home-brewed drinks, like this one. This cider just melted in your mouth, and it was the most delicious beverage from there ‘til New Orleans. Second good thing was that most places people wanted to go were within walking distances, place to place. Both of them could get smashed and then hobble to one another’s place whenever they wished. Convenient location indeed.  
Both friends put their bill on a tab, and left the bar, walking down the sidewalk to the side of town with neighborhoods. “Which one you up for, man? We can go n’ watch the game that’s on tonight, or we can crash at yer place and play videogames in the mornin’.”  
Ellis looked at Keith, stumbling to the side and then steadying himself the best he could with a giddy laugh, “Your place sounds great! We play shit all the time, I think we should go watch the game. What do you say?”  
Keith slugged an arm around Ellis shoulder and pulled him into a side hug, both almost falling over in their drunken haze. “Watchin’ our team kick ass sounds great!” and they hobbled together singing off-key “Top of the Mornin’ To Ya!”  
After a mile or two of travel, the struggle to walk up the stairs to Keith’s top apartment was a challenge. They managed to reach the top, and had a war with the lock. Keith dropped his keys twice, then missed the keyhole thrice. Finally, they were in and Ellis closed the door behind him. Both didn’t have the energy to watch anything, and instead both crashed for the night.  
_______________________________________________________________  
Ellis woke up on Keith’s couch, and groaned. The sun. The fucking sun. He screwed his eyes shut and rolled over, and it felt like the pounding headache decided to move with him and travel to the side of his head. “Fuuuck… God damn my fucking head. Christ.”  
He stayed there for a good few minutes, and then a few minutes turned into an hour. Finally, he dragged his sorry, hungover ass off of the couch and stood up, his muscles and head screaming for him to stop moving. God damn. He shuffled into the kitchen and took a bottle of water out of the fridge, uncapping it and drinking up. He chugged it in about a minute, pausing ever so often to breathe, but he just needed to get the alcohol out of his system as quickly as possible. Sluggishly, he walked into the bathroom, pissed, then crossed the hallway to check up on Keith. He opened the door silently, and he was still sleeping soundly. Ellis felt a little better after seeing his good friend, as well as fucking gorgeous crush, sleeping soundly. As much as the sun hurt to see, the filtered light through the window complimented his curled up body perfectly. He looked like a painting.  
 _One of these days_ Ellis assured himself as he closed the door. _One of these days I’ll say it. Not now, though._  
He walked back into the kitchen, his head feeling a bit more clear. This hangover was going to last at least another few hours, but he could deal with it. Not the first time this happened. As he waited for Keith to wake up, he decided to crash back onto the couch and lie there on his stomach, arms crossed over the side rest, eyes scanning the bookcase beside it. Filled with all sorts of weird shit Ellis had no idea the titles of, nor the subject. Always good to know your eye-candy had a brain. Ellis believed that he himself was the exact opposite. Funny that Keith’s passion was cars just like Ellis while he still adored cool stuff smart people enjoyed. Time passed, and he heard shifting in Keith’s room. Sounded like he was up. Ellis had grabbed a random book and was scanning the pages. No pictures. Some of the fancy ones had cool things drawn with them, all classy and nice looking. No luck here. Ellis felt something being thrown against his back and jumped, startled, “The fuck!”  
He looked to his side, wide-eyed, to a Keith standing next to him. Tousled bed-head, and no sign of being hungover at all. Damn him. “Hey, dude! How you doin’? You must really be Irish and not lyin’ ‘cause dang your tolerance is through the roof!”  
"Out."  
Ellis paused, thinking he misheard him. “Hm?”  
In response, he received a stone-cold stare. It was just a blank expression, but in his eyes there was a completely different story. “I said out.”  
"I- what?" Ellis genuinely showed confusion, shifting to sit up on the couch and his hat tumbled to the floor. Oh, that was what he threw. "Why? Somethin’ wrong, Keith? Need to talk about somethin’?"  
"Get the fuck out," Keith pushed him aside roughly, causing Ellis to stumble and catch his balance on the armrest and be forced to stand. "You talked _plenty_ after we got home last night. Fuckin’ sicko. Get the fuck out of my house.”  
Then there was panic. Ellis opened his mouth to protest, but Keith was fucking scary. Nothing came out of his mouth; Keith’s eyes were anything but generous for a defense. Quickly, Ellis grabbed his hat and then turned to quickly walk out the door, scared beyond belief. _Last night? What the fuck happened last night? Don’t say that I- Oh God…_  
He managed to get home, shielding his eyes from the sun throughout the trek, and he didn’t know what to do. What to say— what to think. It was impossible to know what even happened. And he didn’t remember a fucking thing! There was nothing he could remember. What the hell did he do?  
The hours passed, and bit by bit things were piecing together. Little fragments of the night before. At first, it was snippets of images. Then the dialogue. Ellis standing outside of Keith’s bedroom door, speech slurred and asking him something. He can’t remember what, but he remembered Keith’s response. It was disgust. Disgust and confusion. Ellis’ request was an obvious one, even though the Southerner couldn’t remember it…  
The next day, the news was flooded with panic. Zombies. Zombies everywhere and people turning and chaos and fires. Before leaving his place, he tried to call Keith to see it he was okay. It didn’t fucking matter if he hated him. He just wanted to know he wasn’t one of the ones that got turned.  
He never got a response that day.  
And he never saw Keith again.


End file.
